Dear whoever
by squarey
Summary: A Mike Logan centric series of little snippets that are very fluffy, fluff. Some of them marry up to what I am writing in Very Short, Shorts. Thanks for the reading and reviewing! complete for now.
1. 1 and 2

_Disclaimer: Thank you to the creators of Law and Order. I love your characters (they are not mine). _

_**A/N:** Here is something a little new for me. I am jumping off a bit from my "100 very short, shorts" (the bartender character is introducted with Mike Logan). I am playing around writing using a different style/ point of view. Please read/review and let me know what you think._

_So I'm kind of fickle about the title. _

1.

Detective Logan came into the bar tonight. I can't really figure him out. Sometimes he comes in for one drink, sometimes he stays for five. Sometimes he drinks alone, other times he is quite talkative and flirts without mercy with anyone sitting nearby.

Tonight I kind of felt like he was watching me. I have been serving him drinks long enough to know I am not his type. He seems to go for blondes or red-heads. Detective Logan seems more into the runway model type. I am not the runway model type.

I hope he made it home OK. It really is silly of me to think something like that. He's a cop afterall, so of course he made him home OK. It's just that tonight was one of those 5 drink nights. When he had paid up, I watched him stand, slowly, to catch his equilibrium. He had never really ever gotten stumbling drunk in my bar. I told him to keep warm, but I was fairly certain that he was drunk enough not to be too affected by the cold night.

**

* * *

**2.

Green, like moss. My eyes are green like moss. Standing there, brushing my teeth, I'm thinking that I wish my eyes were blue, or bright, or something other than green like moss. They have a nice wide shape, and I have nice dark lashes, but they are not blue, like hers.

Mike Logan left tonight with one of those runway model types. Tall, blonde, thin, bright blue eyes. She comes in the bar enough for me to know she is recently separated. I know her type, and I know that eventually she will go back to her husband. But tonight, she went home with Detective Logan.

Brownish, like mahogany I guess. My hair is kind of a mix of dark brown and black, like the grain in deep mahogany. So, I have moss eyes, and brownish hair, and I am thinking about a guy who clearly goes for pale blondes with bright blue eyes. Shame on me for wishing I am something I am not.


	2. 3 and 4

**3. **(this one marries to "A Glimpse" from the 100 word series)

I didn't like having to go into work tonight. As bar manager, sometimes I simply take one for the team. Kevin had called in sick, I could not find a replacement, so I dressed quickly and went in. I didn't really have time to change properly, so I ended up in a black bra underneath my white blouse, and I spent some of the evening hoping it did not show through.

Usually for work, I pulled my hair out of my face; it could be unruly and curly. But, I didn't remember to grab a hair clip, so I spent the evening pushing the long strands behind my ears.

I was surprised Mike Logan was in tonight. I did not think he came by on Thursdays. I served him more than a few drinks tonight, so he was pretty drunk when I signaled last call. I could feel him looking at me, I felt a bit self-conscious about the whole black bra thing and I wondered if he was looking at me because he could see the edge through the opening of my shirt.

* * *

**4.**

The whole running into someone out of context is always weird. I cannot believe that I ran into Mike Logan on the street. I was coming out of the coffee shop, drinking a large cup of hot tea. The tea felt good, today was terribly cold. He was leaning against a large, square, dark car, talking with another tall detective. They both wore their badges on their lapels, making me think they were on shift.

"Jessa." He had said my name, surprising me a bit. He never really had occasion to call me by name in the bar. He looked as surprised to see me as I felt about seeing him. The other detective took an interest in me, cocking his head to one side as he studied me. I am pretty positive he was trying to figure out how I knew Mike Logan.

"Detective." I had said. I never really called him Mike, even though sometimes he asked me to.

"Keep warm, Jessa." He said to me. Looking back, I wonder what he meant by that. Maybe he was making fun of the way I was coveting how great the warm cup of hot tea felt in my bare hands. Or, maybe it was that my cheeks were probably flushed by the cold winter day. Or, maybe he was just making fun of the fact that I often said that to him.


	3. 5 and 6

**5.**

Looking in the mirror, I could see the fingerprint outlines of where my dad had grabbed me on my upper arm. It had hurt like hell, but I didn't show it. I never showed it. I was walking out of the bar to run a few errands on my break when he was walking up. He was looking for me. I had not come home for the family dinner yesterday. I wasn't up for it. I knew it had upset my mother, and figured I was in for an ear full on the phone from one of my siblings. I had not really thought my dad would come by in person.

"Your mother, she's really upset you didn't make it by." He had said.

"I know dad, I spoke with her on the phone yesterday." I had said, trying to keep my voice neutral.

"You should come by more often." He continued, I could see the anger in his eyes, and I thought it was ironic that the reason I did not come by was standing in front of me telling me I should come by more often.

"I know Dad." I didn't feel like picking a fight with him. "I wasn't feeling well." I lied.

"You look well to me." He said.

"I'll call mom, set something up with her." I offered, thinking that I could see my mom without my dad around.

"I need to go." I continued, starting to step away, and that was when he grabbed me, hard, by the arm.

"Call you mother, set something up." He said, I nodded, my eyes watering a little from the grip he had on me.

"Whoa." A familiar voice had interrupted, and I turned, surprised to see Mike Logan. My father let me go. And, I stood watching him walk down the block, as Mike stood looking at me.

"Are you OK?" He asked, looking at me, making me realize I was holding my arm.

"Yeah, I'm fine thanks." I looked up at him, I could tell that he was not convinced.

"I just, I need to um, run an errand." I had mumbled, pointing down the block, the opposite direction from where my father had just walked.

"Right." He had nodded, looking down the street to where my dad had turned the corner.

"I'll be back in 20 minutes." I offered, and had turned and hurried down the street.

When I had returned to the bar, Mike was sitting in his usual spot.

"What can I get you?" I had asked, looking at his empty glass, thinking that was not his usual drink. He was drinking what looked to be a club soda with a twist of lime.

"An explanation for who that guy was." He had looked at me pointedly. I could feel my heart slow in my chest.

"No one." I lied.

"Jessa, the distributor is here." Kevin had called out to me, saving me from further questioning. I could feel Mike watching me as I walked into the back room.

"What's he drinking?" I asked Kevin about the club soda.

"Club soda. Said he was on shift." Kevin offered. I realized that Mike had probably been waiting for me to come back in 20 minutes. When I looked again out into the bar, I could see that he had paid up and gone.

* * *

**6. **(this one marries to "The Usual" from the 100 word series)

Mike Logan asked me for my phone number tonight. He caught me completely off guard with his question. He had been playing with me about possibly ordering something different to drink. Then what felt like out of no where he had me for my phone number. I did not know what to say, so I gave him the phone number of the bar. I felt funny about giving out my personal phone number.

I know I am not his type. I guess maybe he could have wanted my number to check up on me in some misplaced official type capacity. He showed concern over the way my dad had been handling me on the street; but, I am not a damsel in distress, and I don't need Mike Logan thinking of me as one.


	4. 7 and 8

**7. **(this one marries to "Flirt" from the 100 series)

Tonight I let Mike Logan stay with me as I closed up. He really is an incredibly nice guy. Though, he seems to have a way of making difficulties for himself, on the job and in his personal life. He grew up with a lot of chaos, and my guess is that if you grow up with that, that is what you are used to, so you kind of create for yourself even when you don't have to.

He kind of romanticized his past exploits on the job, saying that he was a bit quick tempered when he was younger. But now, he has a junior partner, who really is quick tempered, and he is starting to realize how much he has changed.

He asked me out for dinner. I told him that if he remembered to call me tomorrow to follow-up, that I would go out with him. We will see.

* * *

**8.**

So, he called me and asked me out for dinner for tonight. I spent like an hour looking through my closet thinking about what to wear. Now, I am standing in front of the mirror trying to figure if I made the right decision. I cannot remember the last time I went out on a date.

I realize he has only really ever seen me in a black skirt (sometimes pants) and a white blouse. That is what I wear to work, black on bottom, white on top. I look at the knee length olive wool skirt, black boots, and black turtleneck sweater. This will have to work, he is picking me up in about 10 minutes.

I look at my reflection as I move my hair nervously behind my ear. I dried it straight for a change, so it seems even longer, below my bra strap. I wonder how this will go, dinner with Mike Logan.


	5. 9 and 10

**9. **(this one marries to "Maybe one, maybe two, maybe three" from the 100 word series)

"Maybe we can do this again sometime." I was standing there on the steps to my building, trying to concentrate on what he was saying instead of thinking about whether he would kiss me, and whether I should ask him in.

I think I managed to respond that I had a nice time and said yes, we should do this again. But, I don't quite remember what exact words I managed to say out loud. Inside my head I remember thinking, "kiss me, kiss me."

When he did finally kiss me, it was soft. He moved his arms around me and pulled me close and kissed me softly, slowly. Then he let me go. I swear he looked at me for a moment as if he was thinking about coming up to my place, but he did not ask, so I did not invite.

I hope he was serious, I hope he calls me so we can out again some time. I feel like a high school girl, a 30-something high school girl.

* * *

**10.**

I'm standing in the shower with my eyes closed letting the hot water practically scald my skin. It feels great. Yesterday was horrible, but last night was incredible. Maybe the two will even out to make this day neutral.

Yesterday I went out near my mom's house to meet her for coffee. Nothing changes. I'm one of 5 kids, the only girl, so my mom thinks she shares this special connection with me. The only special connection she shares with me is that the bruises on her arms match the ones that were on mine last week.

So I leave to make the drive home, and decide to stop by the bar. I had left my I-pod there the night before, and wanted to pick it up. I remember my stomach twisting slightly when I noticed Mike Logan. He was drunk, I could tell by the way he was sitting. It was early, so it was kind of odd to find him there a few drinks into the evening.

My day had been horrible, I guessed his had been as well, so I asked him out for dinner. He accepted with his smooth smile. When we got back to my place, I asked him inside. I did not want to be alone, I wanted to be with him. So again, he offered me that charming smile and followed me upstairs.

Needless to say, we ended up in bed, and he ended up staying until about 5:00am, which brings me to about now, as I stand here in the shower.

* * *


	6. 11 and 12

11.

I treated myself to a manicure and a pedicure. I keep my nails short and filed square. Silly, but I cannot help but admire the dark red almost brown color of my nails and matching toes. My brother Frank's birthday party is tonight and I am supposed to see Mike tomorrow night, so I rationalize that the manicure and pedicure will get at least two showings.

It's raining, so there is no way I can do anything with my hair except leave it curly. So, I pull it loosely away from my face and fasten it at the nape of my neck with my favorite copper colored hair clip. I slip into my deep red a-line dress and kind of twirl the skirt in front of the mirror. I love this dress, it makes me feel girly, and for a not so girly-type-girl, that feeling is kind of fun.

I slide my feet into some wickedly high black heels that I know I will regret later, and grab my coat to head out to the party. And did I mention, the best thing about the party is that my parents won't be there. We have a family dinner on Sunday, so I don't have to worry about that whole scene for another 4 days.

* * *

12.

As I watched Mike Logan walk through the door, my stomach twisted into a knot. He looked upset, maybe a bit distracted. He wore his badge on the lapel of his black winter coat, so I could tell he was on duty.

I had to leave my brother's party early, there was a fight at the bar and the police responded. And, as the bar manager, I felt like I had to respond as well. The uniforms were just getting ready to leave, when Mike walked in. He walked directly over to me, he reached out his hands for a moment as if to touch me, but he stopped himself short.

"Everything is fine." I offered, feeling a bit weird. "Two guys, one girl, one fight. One of the guys needed to go to the ER for stitches. Everyone gave a statement." I prattled on, he was still looking at me.

"No homicides." I offered, which was a bit silly, but I knew he worked a lot of homicides, so I was still trying to figure out why he had responded.

I watched him motion that the uniforms could go.

"You look beautiful." He said to me, very softly, so no one else could hear. Then it had finally dawned on me, he had responded because he recognized the address and he wanted to see if I was OK.

"Thanks." I smiled up at him, strangely glad that he got to see me in my pretty red dress. I kicked myself thinking that no matter how old you are, when you first starting to see someone, part of you is 15-years-old all over again.


	7. and 14

13. (this one marries to "His Place" from the 100 word series)

Last night I ended up at Mike's place. He picked me up and realized he had left his phone at home. I could tell he was distracted by the fact that he was out of contact with work, so I suggested we go by his place to pick it up.

Last night I also ended up in Mike's bed. While we were at his place picking up his phone, he was digging around his kitchen trying to be polite and offer me something to drink. I realized I didn't want anything to drink, I simply wanted him. So, I walked into his kitchen and stood on my tip toes and did my best to kiss him suggestively.

Last night we did not go out as planned.

* * *

14.

Traffic, traffic, traffic, traffic. Why couldn't I have hit traffic on the way there? It would have shaved some time off spending the afternoon at my parent's place. No, I had to hit traffic on the way home.

All of my brother's were there – Frank, Greg, Hal, and Ian. My mom was not exactly innovative with our names. We are alphabetical by birth order. My dad's name is David, my mom is Elizabeth, so we have D, E, F, G, H, I and J – for me Jessa.

I made a point to steer clear of my father. Unfortunately, Ian hadn't managed that. When I was grabbing something from my car, I could hear them arguing in the garage. Ian was bigger than our father, so our father didn't exactly try to grab hold of him to "shake some sense into him." I remember the last time he did that with Ian, I think my brother was about 14. Ian shook back and sent our dad crashing backward into a wall.

My mother still thinks we are just a normal family. I don't ever want to convince myself that the way my family behaves is at all normal or acceptable.


	8. 15 and 16

15.

So the other night began with me standing outside a bar, freezing in the winter air, thinking about whether it had been such a good idea to agree to meet Mike. He had said it was an after work thing, and that I should come.

"Right so, you're blocking the door." A man's voice said from behind me. I turned to recognize the tall detective I had seen standing with Mike a few weeks ago. He was tilting his head at me, studying me in the same way.

"Jessa, right?" He said, and I nodded like some kind of simpleton.

"In or out." He said, as if he could read my mind. It was exactly what I had been thinking when he walked up behind me.

"In." He said, referring to himself, as he opened the door. Then he held the door for me, so I walked in first and he was close behind.

"If Logan invited you, then he wants you to be in." He stated. Again I nodded, again feeling like a simpleton.

"Bobby, I'm Bobby Goren." He introduced himself, taking his gloves off to shake my hand.

"Jessa Miller." I responded, finally finding my voice. He smiled at me, and I felt a bit better. He helped me off with my coat, carrying it for me as he crossed the room. He handed my coat to Mike as he came to where they were all seated at the bar.

"I found her outside in the cold." Bobby Goren said to Mike. I smiled at Mike, a bit weakly.

Mike reached out and caught my hand, pulling me a bit closer. He kissed me on the temple.

"You are cold." He whispered, as his lips touched my skin. Once he kissed me, I wasn't cold anymore.

* * *

16.

So the other night ended with me dancing with an extremely drunk Bobby Goren. He was actually a pretty good dancer, even though he was so drunk he couldn't string his thoughts together in a coherent kind of way.

The four detectives had cleared a pretty big case, so they were out celebrating. Though apparently celebrating involved a lot of drinking. The case began with a double homicide, and whether or not they cleared it, two people were still dead.

Alex Eames, Bobby Goren's partner had left about ½ hour ago. She was nice enough, a little quiet, with a very dry sense of humor. Megan Wheeler, Mike's partner was at the bar talking with Mike. She also was very nice, still very sober, and very serious. This left me dancing with Bobby Goren, who one minute was not saying a word and in the next minute he couldn't seem to stop talking.

"Can I cut in?" An equally drunk Mike interrupted. "Wheeler is ready to go, if you want a ride." Mike suggested.

"Subtle." Bobby smiled.

"Not really." Mike admitted. Bobby thanked me for the dance, and grabbed his coat to leave with Megan Wheeler.

"Alright beautiful, it's just you and me." Mike pulled me into his arms. I liked it when he called me beautiful.

* * *


	9. 17 and 18

**17.**

Can you cheat on your bartender? I know, the question is silly. But that is kind of how I felt when Mike walked into the bar, clearly already drunk. Well, clear to me anyway. He had cheated on me with some other bar, some other bartender.

"What can I get you?" I asked him, not letting on that I knew he had been someplace else before coming here.

"Are you off soon?" He asked me.

"Maybe another hour." I replied, pouring him a double scotch on the rocks. I watched him take a sip.

"I don't think you'd make a very good Logan." He said to me, taking me completely aback.

"You don't drink often. You don't have a temper. You seem happy." He observed. I stared at him, my mouth slightly open, and watched him drink some more.

What did he mean I wouldn't make a very good Logan? Was he thinking about making me a Logan?

**

* * *

****18.**

I think one of the best pieces of advice I ever received was from my Aunt. She told me once that one of the best things you can do for someone is to help them with the dishes. I took this to heart, so when I was in someone's home, I always helped with the dishes.

This past Sunday I found myself in someone's home helping with the dishes. Mike had invited me to a funeral. A retired officer, long life, death by natural causes. The place was swarming with cops, toasting to a long life and a great career while on the job. So, the funeral was kind of upbeat, that is, in terms of how funerals go anyway.

"So, you're here with Mike Logan." The widow was saying. She was much younger than her now deceased husband, probably by about 15 years or so. I nodded.

"He's a good man." She said. I nodded.

"With a good heart." She said. I nodded.

"Don't let him break yours." She said. I nodded.


	10. 19 nd 20

**19.**

Miss tall, recently separated, gorgeous blonde was in the bar asking for Mike. Actually I knew that she was trying for reconciliation with her husband, and apparently she was also trying for something with Mike.

It was the perfect cap to a perfectly horrible day. I had just ended my shift, and was looking forward to going home and taking a bath so long and so hot that it would wash away the day. My brother Hal had come by, he had stitches above his eye. He had gotten in a fight with our father. That fight had not gotten physical, but then Hal went out and picked a fight with some strangers, and that fight had ended up with Hal in the ER. Every injury in my family somehow seemed to circle back to our father. My stomach hurt just thinking about it.

So, like any well-adjusted grown woman, I took a shot of my favorite white tequila. I watched her sitting at the bar, talking with her equally tall, skinny blonde friend, laughing, and flirting with the men around them. She had a husband, she at one point had Mike, she had the two guys talking with her eating out of the palm of her hand. So, I took another shot.

"You shouldn't drink alone." Kevin smiled, he had just come off shift as well. So, he took a shot of his favorite bourbon.

"To tall skinny blondes." He said, revealing he knew, at least in part, what was eating me.

"To apartments we can't afford." I smiled, revealing I knew he was struggling with trying to find a bigger place so he and his girlfriend could move in together.

"To family." He said, looking at me, reminding me that he knew a little bit about my family.

"To family." I said, and took my fourth shot.

* * *

**20.**

An hour later, I was still drinking with Kevin, who was way more drunk than me. At least I thought so, until I went to stand up. And then it all hit me, and I remembered why I rarely drank. I fell down squarely onto my butt, and Kevin stood over me and laughed. He reached out and pulled me up to my feet.

"Maybe you would make a great Logan after all." Mike's voice took me completely by surprise.

"I should go." Kevin said, managing a somewhat sober façade. I smiled and gave him a small wave, and stumbled a bit sideways.

"Whoa." Mike said, reaching out to catch me.

"Yeah, whoa." I said, not making too much sense. "Did you find your tall skinny blonde?" I asked.

"My what?" He said, still holding me, raising an eyebrow.

"Tall, skinny, blonde." I looked around the bar and realized she was gone. I again tripped over my own feet.

"I think I have what I want right here." He said to me, looking at me. I looked up at him, trying to focus on him, but my eyes were all watery with tears.

* * *


	11. 21 and 22

**21.**

Snow. I love the feel of snow on my face. So, I tilt my face upward toward the grey sky and let the snowflakes kiss my nose. There is something about a fresh blanket of white snow that seems to put the world at peace. I close my eyes and enjoy the brief moment.

"Jessa, you're going to freeze to death out there." My mother calls to me from inside the house. I said the moment of peace was brief, right?

"I'm fine. Though, I should get going. I need to get back to the city, I have to work tonight." I call back, without take a step closer to my parents' house. I had no plans to go back inside.

"David." I could hear my mother calling to my father inside the house. I was pretty certain it was her plan to enlist my father to stop me from driving back into the city.

"Bye mom, I'll call you when I get back to the city." I call out, pretending not to hear that she was calling my father. I jump into my car and am headed down the street as I see my father step to the door. I might pay for the decision later, but I think I mentioned, I had no plans to go back inside.

* * *

**22.**

The lights in the ER seemed horribly bright. My head was pounding, and very sore where the ER doctor had just placed 15 stitches. I could hear my family arguing, even though I knew they were pretty far down the hall. They had just gotten thrown out of the exam area for being too loud.

My father had come by my work again, but this time, by strange coincidence, my brother Greg was there as well. They were arguing with each other, about me. Greg was defending me, but my father was yelling about how the other day when I drove back to the city in the snow I worried my mother to death. I was tuning them both out, watching them carefully. I was trying to ready myself, thinking that if the argument turned physical, I would need to step away.

My father moved suddenly, so I kind of jumped backward and away from them. I could see my father reaching up to run his hands through his hair, and too late I realized he had not been reaching for Greg or me at all. But, I had already jumped away, and tripped, and I could feel my head slam into the brick ledge of the outside wall to the bar. I slipped the rest of the way down the wall until I was sitting on the sidewalk, when I reached to touch the back of my head I could feel the blood.

They then proceeded to argue for another few minutes about who was going to take me to the hospital. Greg won that round by simply taking me softly by the arm and shoving me into the passenger side of his car. He didn't even bother to tell my father what ER he was taking me to, which was the cause of the argument that got them all thrown out of the examination area.

"Jessa." It was Mike's voice I heard. I had closed my eyes against the bright lights, and opened them slowly to see him standing in front of me.

"Kevin called me." He offered, as if he could read my confusion on how he knew I was in the ER. I looked at his badge on his lapel; I knew that was probably what cleared him back into the exam area.

"I took the rest of the day as personal time." Mike said, he was standing close to me. I could tell he was trying to gauge if I was OK. I also thought he was distracted by all of the arguing down the hall. I did not think he had any idea that was my family.

I looked at him for a long moment, thinking about what I knew of him, what I knew of his childhood, of his mother.

"That's my family, arguing down the hall." I said, jumping in with both feet. He looked at me for a long moment. I could feel myself shaking.

"Three of my brothers, anyway, and my father." I offered, looking down at my hands.

"I'm ready to go home. But they're probably going to argue about that as well." I went on, still staring at my hands. Mike reached out and gently lifted my face so I was looking at him.

"Well, I guess we should probably leave this way, then." He said, gesturing to the opposite way of my family. He was half joking, half serious, trying to see how I would react. I felt immediately relieved.

"I will call Frank and let him know." I referred to my oldest brother, he was most equipped to handle my skipping out of the ER without letting them know, and square the decision with my other brothers and deal with our father.

"It's settled, then." Mike said, helping me down off the exam table.

"I'll be the one taking you home." He kissed me softly on my temple. I knew I was putting off the inevitable, telling Mike about what had happened, dealing with my family. I wondered how understanding Mike would be when he knew the truth. But I put it that off for another day.


	12. 23 and 24

**23.** (this one marries up to "Plaid" from the story series "Very Short, Shorts")

I lay in the bed in the darkness, watching him get dressed. I can hear the clink of his belt, and see his fingers fastening the buttons of his shirt. I watch him put his plaid necktie around his collar. I watch him collect his badge and gun from the dresser; they glint in the ambient light. They are shiny, they always seem to catch whatever small amount of light is in the room. He kisses me softly on the forehead. I am in love with him, but I know it would be a mistake to tell him. So, I don't say anything, I lay there letting him think I am asleep.

* * *

**24.**

"So when are you going to tell me how you cracked your head open?" Mike asked, he was sitting at my kitchen table pretending like he was reading the newspaper. I watched him put the newspaper down, and look at me.

"Never." I said, knowing that my answer would not play.

"I don't know about that, never is a long time." His words were playful, but his tone was serious.

"It is, never is a long time." I mumbled, knowing that I should just simply spit it out. "My family, my family argues like that all the time." I said, referring to the loud argument Mike overhead in the ER a few days ago.

"Loudly." He said, in a leading kind of way.

"Definitely." I wanted to leave it at that, but I knew that he knew there was more. Loud does not crack your head open. "How ever many weeks ago, when you stopped by the bar, and I was out front, and that man was holding me by the arm." I started by circling back to clear up something I had not been truthful about. "And you asked me who that was, and I said, no one." I continued on. "Well, that was my father." I took a shaky breath. "So, in my family, fights are loud and physical." I tried to explain. "As kids we got knocked around a fair bit. As teenagers, my brothers started knocking back. And, sometimes, I think my father loses track that he can't grab me the same way he grabs hold of my brothers." I just kept talking, and Mike, he kept his expression neutral. "So, yesterday when Greg and my dad were arguing out front of the bar, I kind of jumped backward out of the way and tripped and hit my head." I finished. Mike simply looked at me for a long moment.

"I think I would like to meet your family." Mike's tone was neutral. I thought his suggestion was a perfectly hideous idea.

* * *


	13. 25 and 26

**25.**

Brunch. I think brunch sounds civilized. So, after 3 days of Mike mentioning how he would like to meet my family, I set up a brunch for this Sunday at my brother Frank's house. Frank's wife is a great hostess, Frank does this fabulous make your own omelet thing, my parents only live about 15 minutes away from Frank's house, seems perfect.

Needless to say, my family is very excited that I am seeing someone. And, they are very excited that I would like for them to meet the someone I am seeing. I am not certain it is a good thing for my family to be very excited about anything. In fact, I spend a lot of time trying to avoid anything that would excite them.

So, I'm sitting here with a prescription I just filled from my doctor for an anti-anxiety medication. The moment I set up this oh-so-very-civilized brunch, I practically hyperventilated. How am I supposed to expect Mike to be low-key, if I cannot behave that way myself? So, with a little medicinal help, I plan to be as low-key as I can be.

* * *

**26.**

"You seem a little quiet." Mike says to me. We are a few minutes away from my brother Frank's house. Mike is right, I have been a little quiet. In fact, outside of the occasional direction, I have not really said a word since we left the city.

"Nervous?" He quirks his eyebrow as he asked me the question.

"A little." I admit to him, though you would never be able to tell. My brain kind of feels like I wrapped it in cotton. I am feeling very low-key. In fact, I have been feeling low-key since yesterday morning, when I took the prescription. And, felt low-key again this morning, when I took the prescription again. All within the recommended dosage, I assure you. And, it is something I have actually taken for a short time in the past. So, the cottony feeling is a bit familiar.

"I think it is good that I am meeting your family." He offers. I wonder about that. Here is Mike Logan, man with not a lot of family in his life right now, on the brink of my chaotic world. I guess if he thinks it is good, I should just go with that.

"It is the yellow house on the left." I say, indicating Frank's house. We pull up to the curb. Let the civilized brunch begin.


	14. 27

**27.**

The oh-so-civilized brunch was actually very civilized. Just as I had hoped, Frank's wife was a wonderful hostess and everyone loved Frank's omelets. My parents were strangely quiet, my father a bit sullen. Sometimes they acted that way when they were forced to be the guest. My mom liked being hostess, and resented Frank's wife. My dad liked being at home.

I mentally checked the "meet the family" box off my list. I was thinking that maybe I had been a bit hasty in talking with Mike about my family, about the way my family fought with each other. Maybe we were just one of those big rowdy stereo-typical Irish families you see on TV. You know, the ones that are always fighting, but for some reason it is OK. Mike put my pondering to a quick halt.

"Your brothers and your dad can duke it out all they want. That is between them." Mike said, keeping his eyes on the road as he drove us back to the city.

"But, I don't ever want any bruises on you, and I don't ever want you in the ER." He placed his hand softly on my knee. He reminded me that I don't ever want any bruises on me, and I don't ever want to be in the ER.

"We can work on that." He said. I smiled, his hand was on my knee and he had used the word "we." He didn't go off all half-cocked and get up in my families face. Again, probably something that happens more often on TV. Or maybe it was the approach Mike would have taken a dozen years ago, but he was more seasoned now. He saw more of the grey in life.

"I love you." I said the words before I could stop myself. Just the other day I had promised myself I would hold off, and let him take the leap first.

"I love you too beautiful." He said, smiling. Did I mention that I like it when he calls me beautiful?

* * *


End file.
